


think I better follow you around

by threethingssid (orphan_account)



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: F/M, takes place during the year of secret sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-05 03:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/threethingssid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(206): You are so predictable. I am willing to bet 20$ that instead of going out you are sitting on your couch, stoned, watching Seinfield re-runs and eating Cheezits.</p><p>(360): 1. They're goldfish. 2. Fuck you!</p>
            </blockquote>





	think I better follow you around

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the All Things Community Ficathon on LJ.

Britta signs, and throws her phone on the couch table in front of her, it lands with a thumb, next to the half empty bottle of beer that she's been nursing for the last 15 minutes. She can already picture the stupid, self-satisfactory smirk that will appear on Jeff's face when he reads her reply.

She didn't mean to sound so harsh, but he has a way of getting under skin. Something about the fact that a pompous ass like Jeff Winger knows her well enough to predict her actions like this irritates her more than it should.

It's only moments later when her phone buzzes with a new message, because of course Jeff can't spend more than ten seconds away from his beloved phone.

" _Since you brought up sex: wanna grab a drink?_ "

Britta rolls her eyes, but actually thinks about it for a moment, before she reminds herself that she promised she wouldn't do that – him – tonight. And there is no way that her and Jeff surrounded by dim lightning and plenty of alcohol would lead to anything else.The last time happened, in unflattering, broad daylight, in her car and that's not anything anyone would consider romantic, but that's beside the point.

The point is: she made a promise – even if it's just to herself – and she is the kind of person who keeps her promises. A person of principles, not someone like Jeff who forms his opinions based on his chances of personal gain, and changes them at the drop of a hat, whenever circumstances change, or he gets bored and wants to annoy her.

She may have ditched him tonight (told him she was busy, when she really wasn't), but it's not like she did it to be rude.

She just needed some space, so now she's curled up i front of the TV, wearing her favourite, most unflattering sweatpants and one of his (ridiculously expensive and wonderfully soft) shirts while drinking beer and eating snacks.

He spent the last three nights at her place, and she slept at his the one before that (and on two of these occasions there was even something one might consider a shared breakfast in the morning) so she had to draw a line.

Four nights a week is way too much for whatever they are. Casual hook-ups don't do breakfast or spend that much time together, and neither do friends with benefits. Come to think of it, not even most couples she knows do.

And they're definitely not a couple, they're not even exclusive, they just somehow stopped seeing other people. At least she did, and they spend so much time together – during the day at college, after that sneaking around on campus, making out in backseats like a bunch of horny teenagers – that, unless he is hiding a secret girlfriend in the back of his trunk (which she wouldn't put past him), she is pretty sure that so did he. No big deal.

She's not going to ask him about it, because it's not like she even cares.

She's going to bed now, without answering, or even checking, her phone again. (It feels a bit like trying to make a point without actually knowing what that point is, but whatever.) She is definitely not thinking about how used she has gotten to him being around her apartment, that there is a bottle of his favourite juice in her fridge, his shampoo in her shower and at least three of his shirts and boxers on her drying rack.

And she is not missing his presence, his weight on the couch beside her or his arm around her (always casually, like it just came to rest there by chance) around her when she falls asleep.

She buries her head in her pillow and tries not to think about the fact that she likes that it smells like Jeff fucking Winger's overpriced shampoo.


End file.
